Monday, July 02, 2007

Some thoughts...

A bitch got a lot of shit accomplished this weekend even though a certain sorta-beagle ,Theo, had to be thwarted in his never ending quest to exploit our fenced-in area’s structural weaknesses.

Theo the BayMaster was able to get his leashless walk on twice over the weekend by pushing through an unsecured plank in our fence. The second time I had locked his willful ass in via a chain and he got his Houdini on…slipped out of his collar (a nightmare for any dawg guardian)…pushed through the plank and took off at a prance down the street.

Shit.

C-Money took care of the problem with nail and hammer and fixed the fenec, but I'm still scared to leave his ass out there.

Mercy, doesn’t that dawg know he’s got it good?

Anyhoo, a bitch has some thoughts on some shit.

Quest for paper…A bitch watched the Sunday political chats and caught a certain Senator Leahy on Meet the Press discussing subpoenas.

As you know Senator Leahy is chairman of the Judiciary Committee. He fired off that he was prepared to go to court in pursuit of documentsdealing with the firing of federal prosecutors…the White House having responded to his subpoenas by wrapped itself in the soothing fabric of executive privilege.

Senator Leahy called that move Nixonian…and a bitch agrees to a point.

Playing the executive privilege card may be Nixonian, but Poor Richard didn’t have The 5-4 Supremes as backup.

Gasp!

"Heading for a constitutional crisis", my black ass Russert.

If Senator Leahy’s challenges make it as far as the Supreme Court the ending to that song has already been signed, sealed and is giving off stankified steam while resting on ice ready to be delivered. Victory is a done deal.

Nixon, however, lost his "these tapes are my personal property" challenge to the Supreme Court.

Sigh.

This bitch has always seen that chapter as a constitutional triumph rather than a crisis.

A bitch doubts there are any triumphs, constitutional or political, in our near future.

Which brings me to the Lobster…um, Lob-stah (beat you to it…wink)..Summit.

Sigh.

Lobstah a la Classic Bushified Defiance with herbed butter...Oh, to take a vacation in beautiful Maine…on the water…with the cool soothing touch of one’s rancid and rotting from within but in total adoration of her son despite his rejection of diplomacy in favor of a shocking succession of international failures…cough…mother on thy brow.

How jolly!

And it is so delightful that the Family Bush just had to invite President Putin to vacation with them.

Delightful…perfection even...a rare opportunity to smooth over a rough relationship with lobster and boating.

Lawd, give me strength!

Am I the only one who finds pictures of Bush and his vile family on vacation at a motherfucking fabillion trillion dollar compound hounding down on fucking lobster whilst sitting overlooking a picturesque bay after having failed to accomplish anything domestic policy-based and while the nation is at war fucking obscene?

Shameless.

Ugh.

And this whole “we’re got to make nice with Russia” spin is so full of shit it begs a large roll of super absorbent toilet paper.

The Lobster Summit isn’t about diplomacy…it’s about posturing.

Mmhmmm.

It’s about bullshitting before the cameras and going through the motions of diplomatic interaction all the while intending to do whatever the hell you want to do regardless of what is said/done/presented/suggested/argued for or advised.

Thus the press is feasting on a dish of Lobstah a la Classic Bushified Defiance...with melted herbed butter on the side.

Fu! I just let the Baymaster back in after an hour long sojourn in the yard with Betsey the Sorta Beagle. The reinforced wall and check point charlie situation is working. He shall not flee again soon. He had ample opportunity, means and motivation -- and failed. I told you I naileth lumber securely ... and I have been validated by his feeble attempts this afternoon. He was laying on the porch, submissive and spent from his treachery, when I ushered his shame-faced ass in the back door. And then I did a victory dance. Rest assured that you can shove his ass outside with confidence henceforth.